


Here With Me

by nesrynfaliq



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre series, Pre series AU, the assassin's blade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6720229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celaena considering the scenario that might have played out if everything had not gone horribly terribly wrong the night Sam set out to kill Farran. </p>
<p>"She smiles against his skin, at the wonder in his voice, at the prospect and promise of the future he’s described for them, of the long, quiet years ahead of them that they can spend together in peace and comfort, no more mind games and manipulation and pain. Just her and him and the life they’ll create from the ashes of the old one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here With Me

**Author's Note:**

> First Samlaena attempt. I was emotional. This happened. Sam Cortland was taken from me too soon.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demands, her voice cracking through the cold, dark room like a whip and Sam jumps in the doorway at the sound of it, straightening from where he had been slumping against the frame.

“Killing Farran,” he tells her with a tone that implies he’s vaguely fearful for her sanity, “Where do you think I was?”

Springing to her feet, unable to keep herself contained in the comfortable chair she’s been sitting in, foot tapping in time with the relentlessly ticking clock on the mantelpiece, and stalks towards him like a rabid wolf cornering a jackrabbit, “It’s four o’clock in the morning,” she barks at him, crossing her arms over her chest as though trying to hold herself together.

As she struggles to keep from exploding and screaming at him she’s unable to keep her voice from shaking, hating the way he can make every mask, every bit of control she’s carefully cultivated over the years falters the moment she looks into his eyes or hears his voice or feels his skin on hers.

“You were supposed to be back hours ago,” she rages, trying and largely failing to leash the emotion threatening to tear through her, and it slips as the fears she’s wrestled with, growing darker and stronger with every minute he’d kept her waiting, “I thought you were chained up in a dungeon, or in bloody pieces on a table, or lying dead in a gutter somewhere-“

He closes the distance between them in a few sure strides, placing his hands on her shoulders and gripping her tightly, trying to steady her, “Hey, relax,” he says, so calmly and easily she doesn’t know if she wants to kiss him or hit him, “I’m here, I’m fine, I- Why are you wearing your suit?” he asks, breaking off from his soothing, looking bemused as he takes her in, brows lowering, “I thought we agreed you would stay here.”

“We did,” she grinds out through clenched teeth, shoving his hands away from her, unwilling to be so easily calmed and contained and she begins pacing, trying to work off some of the boiling energy that’s still humming through her body, “And it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever made me agree to,” she spits out at him, striding forwards so fast he takes a step back in alarm before she jabs him hard in the chest, “And we are never doing it again. I don’t care what you say, or if you found the client, or if you hate me for it-“

“Celaena-“ he begins weakly but she continues on over him.

“I am _never_ letting you do something so dangerous without me again,” she informs him in a snarl, face pressed close against his, “Because I can’t go through what I went through tonight ever again. Because I have this suit on because I was afraid and I went looking for you when you didn’t come home and I couldn’t find you anywhere and I-“

Her voice has risen to a shout by the time it finally breaks and forces her to stop her tirade, panting slightly.

“I had to lie low longer than I expected afterwards but-“ Sam tries to explain, his voice low and urgent but she’s momentarily distracted from telling him why she’s on the verge of chaining herself to him and never letting him leave her side again by,

“Afterwards?” she breathes, blinking up at him. She had assumed that something had gone wrong to make him so late but...”It’s done? He’s really dead?”

Sam nods, the faintest hint of a smile daring to tug at his lips as he says, “Yes. It’s done. He’s really dead,” he tenderly strokes a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear before he whispers, “It’s almost over.”

“Everything went to plan?” she asks, searching his eyes for a single flicker of doubt or denial.

“Exactly,” he confirms, the smile broadening on his face.

“You’re not hurt?” she chokes out, finally letting herself examine every inch of him, eyes raking over his body, trying to find a single cut or bruise.

He slides his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to his to make her look at him when he answers, “No. Not at all. He never got close to me, he never even knew I was there. I told you, I just had to lie low, that’s all, Celaena.”

Her name on his tongue unlocks something in her this time and a cracked, strangled little laugh manages to make it out of her tight throat and she steps in, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him as hard as she can.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she mumbles thickly into his chest, “I thought you were dead. I thought you were being tortured, I thought-“

“Hey, hey, shh,” Sam soothes gently, rubbing her back with one hand, softly stroking her hair with the other, “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his breath hot on the top of her head.

 She blinks up at him, lifting her face up from where she had it buried in his chest. When she meets his eyes again they’re dancing with amusement and a wicked grin is stretching across his face, “Sorry you’re such a paranoid drama queen,” he teases wryly, the smirk audible in every syllable.

“ _You-“_ she snarls furiously, launching herself at him while he laughs and pretends to fend her off, “Gods,” she bursts out, glowering at him, “How did you ever get to be such an ass?” she demands, not giving him a second to respond before she barrels on, “I don’t even know why I’d have been sorry you were dead, you bastard. In fact,” she goes on, voice rising, “It would have been a relief, then I wouldn’t have to put up with your stupidity anymore and-“

He cuts her off, kissing her in a way he’s never kissed her before and it takes her a moment to remember how to breathe never mind any else. It’s long and slow and deep and she can feel the thrill of the fight and escape still burning through his blood, burning through _him_ even now, hours later. His mouth is hot and hungry against hers, as though he’s drowning and she’s the air he can’t get enough of and she responds as though he’s on fire and all she wants to do is burn up with him until they’re nothing but ash and smoke and cinders.

They break apart at last, arms around one another, their bodies fitting together so seamlessly it’s as though they were made this way – to be with one another.

“I hate you,” she breathes against his lips and he feels the laughter huff out of him, ruffling her hair.

“That’s too bad,” he murmurs, that playful glimmer twinkling in his rich eyes again, fingers lightly brushing down over her lips, “I love you,” something shifts in those eyes she plans on spending the rest of her life getting lost in and he dips down again, tangling his fingers slowly, luxuriously though her hair as though he wants to savour every second of this kiss, every second with her, as though they have so little time together, instead of a lifetime, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

“I am sorry I scared you,” he murmurs onto her hair, his voice deepening and rumbling through her as he holds her close. She nuzzles into him, knowing he means it, and smiles against him when she feels him gently kiss the top of her head.

 He waits until she makes eye contact with him again before he says, “And I love you, Celaena Sardothien,” a faint smile brushes over her lips at the tender warmth in his voice when he says her name, “More than anything else in this world I love you.”

She can’t tear her eyes away from his and as he softly caresses her cheek with his thumb she doesn’t think she’d be able to even if the world was ending around them, she’d still only want to look at him, to be sure his face was the last thing she ever saw.

“Good,” she says, her voice thick with barely controlled emotion, “Because I love you too, Sam Cortland.”

It’s the first time she’s said it to him, to anyone, and it terrifies her. It terrifies her so much that she could care about someone so much, that their presence could make her; and make her life worth living; their absence could break her so completely that without them she would become someone else entirely, someone she wouldn’t recognise.

But it feels right. And tonight, gods, she could have lost him tonight. Even though she knows it went perfectly the mere thought of it not having gone that way was enough to spur her into action. For the first time, something had scared her more than the bare fact of loving him; the idea that he might die without her ever having told him, without ever knowing that she loves him just as much as he loves her, she was only too scared to say so.

The smile on his face as he looks at her now could end wars, she thinks, as he slides his hand behind her head, cradling her to him, and kisses her again.

She tries to put a lot of things she can’t seem to say or even begin to put into words just yet, and perhaps he understands, because he deepens the kiss and holds her so close and so tightly she doesn’t think he ever means to let her go.

When he finally draws away, cupping her face in his hands that smile still on his lips, she echoes it then gently twines their fingers together, “Come on,” she murmurs quietly, exhaustion suddenly taking hold of her, “We still have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, we should sleep and-“

The next words stick in her throat, her training warning against any show of weakness or vulnerability but she quickly counters it, reminding her that this is Sam, _Sam,_ the person she loves, the person who knows she loves him and there’s no weakness or vulnerability that she ever has to be afraid of revealing to him and so she says softly, “And I want you to hold me, okay?”

He nods, lightly kissing her forehead before he lets her lead him into their bedroom. They undress each other, carefully removing the skin-tight suits crafted specifically for them. They take their time, touching and often kissing each bit of skin they expose, baring each other a display of trust and intimacy, though it never goes further than that.

She wriggles into one of his old shirts when he’s done peeling her out of her suit and then they climb into bed together, entwined together. Once she’s settled in place and comfortable he lifts his arms inviting her in beside him, a tender smile on his lips and she does so. She nestles in against his familiar warmth, inhaling his scent until it seems to fill her lungs, spreading to every part of her, soothing every fear that had torn through her ravaging her soul like two armies ripping apart a killing field. He wraps his arms tightly around her, enveloping her in him, drawing her in even nearer, as though to keep her safe with him in the shelter of his arms forever.

“tomorrow we’ll take out Jayne and then we’ll be free,” he whispers to her in the dark and she feels the ripple of excitement and anticipation at the thought pulse through him, “We can go to the Southern Continent and get away from this city, this empire, from Arobynn and everything that’s been done to us. We can start over. We can build a new life there, just you and me.”

She smiles against his skin, at the wonder in his voice, at the prospect and promise of the future he’s described for them, of the long, quiet years ahead of them that they can spend together in peace and comfort, no more mind games and manipulation and pain. Just her and him and the life they’ll create from the ashes of the old one.

“I think I’m going to like that life a lot,” she tells him quietly.

She can hear the smile in his voice when he replies in a hushed whisper, “I know I will.”

She falls asleep in his arms with the feel of his heartbeat pounding through her and the sound of his slow, deep breathing enveloping her.

****

A thin finger of sunlight landing across her eyes is what finally wakes her. Through the numbing, confusing fog of sleep that still lingers in her bones she becomes aware of a persistent draught tugging at her skin. Grumbling faintly she rolls over, searching for Sam’s warmth and the comforting embrace she must somehow have slipped out of while she slept.

Her fingers find only rough, frozen wood.

Her eyes flutter open at last and her surroundings make themselves known with sudden, agonizing clarity. The prison wagon. On its way to Endovier. The truth, the hideous, unbearable inescapable truth descends on her again with a crushing pressure; as though the weight of all the world’s grief and misery have fallen on her at once, crippling her and making it impossible to breathe.

Sam. Dead. _Sam._

Even the mere thought of his name is enough to make her eyes burn and her soul cry out for its missing half.

It hadn’t been real. Any of it. The teasing and the kisses, telling him she loved him...She did. She did oh gods she did and what she wouldn’t do to make that dream real, to have him again, to have him just hold her again. A king’s ransom, a lifetime of servitude, her past, her future, her everything – the shredded remnants of her ruined soul; she would give it all away just to see him again. Just one more time.

Because she hadn’t ever told him that she loved him. No. She had been too gods-damned afraid to say that to him, to look him in the eyes and reveal that greatest truth to him; as he had done for her. She had been too much of a coward and now...Well now it was too late and she would never get that chance.

If only she’d had a minute with him, just a minute at the end, even if the gods couldn’t let her save him, even if they’d insisted on taking him away from her, even though he was good and brave and strong, they could have at least given her one damn minute more with him.

Then she could have said goodbye. She could have been with him and made sure he didn’t die alone in pain and terror. She could have been there with him and given him a little comfort. And she could have told him that she loved him. She would have said it over and over and over again until even the world knew it and might whisper it on the wind, might remind him of it in the Afterworld.

Then he wouldn’t have died thinking his love unanswered. He would have known that she loved him too. Because even if he had wondered or hoped, even if he had somehow known from what he saw in her eyes when she looked at him, then he would have truly _known_ , would have been completely sure.

The regret of the things they had left undone because she thought they would have so much time; the regret of everything she had never said because she was too afraid would haunt her for the rest of her miserable life, almost as much as his memory.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” she whispers into the darkness, praying he can hear her and can understand.

Sorry for not saving him. Sorry for not avenging him. Sorry for not even managing to bury him. Sorry for being too late – too late for everything – for helping him, for saying she loved him, for kissing hi; sorry for wasting a single second with him when she should have cherished every one, committed every inch  of him to memory so she would remember him. Because now the exact shade of his eyes, the precise tone of his voice, the way his mouth felt on hers, the way it made her feel when he kissed her, are all fading away, as if it had all happened to someone else.

She turns over onto her side, burying her face against the musty wooden walls, closing her eyes and muffling the sound of her strangled sobs with her fist, praying for the silence to come and claim her again and carry her away to nothing, blissful, blessed nothing, where she might dream of Sam again...

****

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry.


End file.
